Masque Act 15
by Darkwood
Summary: The next story in the series following 'Long Path of Recovery', similar format. Small preview in 1st part, along with author's note. -Rating changed to include final chapters.- Because of Sunrise finishing the series, I consider this to be an AU.
1. Interlude: Fairy Tale

**Act Fifteen: Masque**

**Brief Preview: **_Roger Smith has undergone much since meeting R. Dorothy Waynewright, but it seems, at last, that the two of them are coming to terms with the obtuse relationship they share. A relationship that may or may not be a chance meeting, according to the painter who seems to double as a thought reader, Hope Dorland. Angel has betrayed Alex Rosewater, at the cost of possible peril to her own well being, and with the help of Schwarzwald, hopes to have stopped a trap laid for the Negotiator set at the Saint's Day Ball by Rosewater. Roger, still having nightmares at a constant, though not steady, basis, nevertheless is overcoming them and returning to business almost as usual. A few noticeable exceptions are his treatment of Dorothy and a lack of prior habits that gave him the nickname of 'ladykiller' as far back as his days in the Military Police._

AN: I originally intended not to write the Saint's Day Ball at all, since the idea has been done so often in other stories of Roger and Dorothy getting dressed up for some party or other and him seeing gasp how feminine and pretty Dorothy can look. But the storyline seemed, as I was finishing up fourteen, to call for the confrontation of forces at the Ball, and so our hero and his mechanical heroine will indeed be examined as they glide through the evening of revelry gone wrong. I'm not sure at all how long this Act will be, I don't see it being as long as fourteen by any stretch of the imagination. But then this is from someone who said 6-10 parts for Act 14 and ended up with…twenty-five. Hope you enjoy this Act as much as the last one.

***

**Act Fifteen: Interlude - Fairy Tale**

_ 'I am not entirely sure what is between Roger and I, so I decided to read up on the subject, but, as Norman warned me, books are not very helpful when it comes to this subject.'_

In two days I will become Cinderella.

I believe the terminology is appropriate, considering my position in Roger's household, and that I will be dressed up in fancy attire and going to a Ball on the arm of a tall, dark… well I would never call the Negotiator a prince, but he does have the cut of one according to all the books that I have scanned over. I think it will be a nice change to be out of the house and in Roger's company when we are not working or doing chores to maintain the house.

I only wish I could understand more of what I have read. The whole concept of love, as I have been studying books on the subject since the last time Beck was out of jail, lead me to believe that it is about marriage, and yet, anytime I broach the subject with Roger, he mentions nothing of the sort.

Or perhaps I need to admit to myself that people do not marry androids, no matter what.

But if people do not marry androids, can they care about them… as more than just convenient appliances?


	2. Interlude: Glove Fit

**Act Fifteen - Interlude: Glove Fit**

_ 'I guess what was more surprising than the fact that Dorothy could wear something less than matronly was the dress she chose. I told her that she didn't have to wear black, but I think I almost expected her to wear the red dress she wore when singing for her father. I didn't expect the dark gray gown she entered in, and since I wasn't ready for it, I could barely contain my reaction to it.'_

"Dorothy, are you quite ready yet?" I tap my toe on the thick carpet, impatient. She asked that I look at the dress she chose to see if it was appropriate or not, and I told her she would have to put it on in order for me to judge, but now it seems that in order for her to try it on I have to wait an hour.

She's an android… what is there to do special?

I chide myself for that unkind thought. She may be an android, but there is very much special about her. A lot that I have only recently come to recognize.

"Just a moment, Roger."

She steps into the room, holding the front of the gown in one small, pale hand, and turns her back to me. "I need your assistance."

After a moment of gawking, I step forward and reach out my hand to do up the hidden zipper along the back of the dress. Only after I have it done up do I realize she's feigning human again. "Dorothy," I scold in a testy manner.

"You are correct in assuming that I could probably have done that task myself, Roger Smith, however," she turns and lowers her hand from the front to show the straps and small sleeves to me, "I do not know if the dress would allow for my movements in that direction without tearing."

My mouth is suddenly dry and she models the dress, walking to and fro across the room at my muted instructions. She stops before me and looks up at me a moment. "So does this dress seem appropriate to you?"

"Turn… in a circle," I manage.

She does so, and like most ball gowns, it fans out around her slim form nicely, gathering just behind her as it settles after the turn. "Again?" she asks when I don't respond right away. I shake my head, despite enjoying the slight smile on her face as she does the turn.

"It... it is... appropriate."

She turns her back to me again, and at first I feel like I've said something wrong, but she glances over her shoulder at me, "Please undo the zipper then, and I will change into my normal clothing once more."

Oh. Right.


	3. Scene One: Failure

**Act Fifteen - Scene One: Failure**

_ 'The hastiest alliances, for whatever period, made in whatever situation, are still alliances, and allies cannot be brushed aside like a piece of tissue used to blot lipstick. Even though Michael does tend to remind me of one sometimes. I just wish he'd take off the damn bandages and look me in the eye.'_

"So, my pretty pawn, what caused you to turn on your master and aide the Negotiator after so much work against him?"

"I don't consider what we did as aiding the Negotiator, Schwarzwald, I consider it working against Alex Rosewater."

"Any way you slice it you irrevocably stepped out of your job at Paradigm, sweetheart. There must be a reason. Neither of us is leaving here until I find out why." His voice is taunting, jeering as it echoes around the two of us.

I stand in the tunnel and stare at Schwarzwald. I know more about that man than he knows about himself, and yet he still has the gall to stand here and demand answers from me. Oh pity the poor man who thinks he can truly know or corner any woman.

"Then it looks like the two of us will be here for a very long time."

"You don't intend to let me in on anything, Fallen One?"

I glare at him, eyes narrowing dangerously. My hand twitches and I want ever so much to grab the pistol I carry and put a slug right between his eyes. But now is not the time to loose my calm. If I am careful, Alex will never know it was me who betrayed him. But that will require Schwarzwald alive, breathing, and boasting further about the Memories he has discovered about the Incident forty years ago.

"Not today, Professor." He winces, probably thought I didn't know about that. "But just know that Rosewater and I don't always play for the same team."

"A comforting thought. Rather than waste our time then, let's be on our way."

I nod.

"But don't be stupid enough to think the Negotiator will change his plans just because of a silly job coming to an end."

"What?"

"Dear, dear Patricia… Casey… Angel," he lets the last name roll off his tongue, tasting it and then continuing, "Don't pretend to be so naïve. It doesn't fit you, my dear. Even _I_ am aware of the Negotiator's reasons for attending the Saint's Day gallantries."

I pull the gun, my temper short and his taunting not helping the slight headache I feel building in my temples, "Tell me why, then."

"Simple," he laughs, a mocking, bitter sound, "Look to the lady, dear Angel. Look to _the lady._"

I growl and he cackles as he heads off down his own fork in the subway tunnels. No doubt he'll pick some uselessly complex route to throw off any supposed pursuit he thinks I may give him, but that is of no matter. I frown and it turns to a scowl, which, accompanied by my gaze, is enough to make me, almost, want to go and put a stop to the reigning Rosewater's snare for the Negotiator personally, but calmness gets the better of my enraged spirit, and I think again.

How to convince Dorothy not to go to the Ball… With only two days remaining until it's eve…

There's a better thing to concentrate my energies on than all this useless violence I seem trapped in at the moment. Keeping the pistol in hand I turn and head off down my own fork in the tunnels. It's no secret where I'm going, nor need it be. I have to stop by the tailor's and pick up my gown for the ball.


	4. Interlude: Dance Lessons

**Act Fifteen - Interlude: ****Dance Lessons**

_ 'Norman said that it would be better to get in some actual practice, so I accepted. I didn't think it would be as difficult as it was to follow the steps I had been studying, but it was very hard. I almost didn't hear when Roger came down to check on our whereabouts, but only almost. I wonder what is causing my senses to become so dull.'_

I suppose I should've expected it, but I didn't. I was gone on an errand about my latest case, and when I got back I found my dinner waiting on the table for me. The house, for the most part, was silent, and I wondered where Norman and Dorothy could be. Norman, I granted, could be down fixing Big O, but Dorothy…

Well, she could be helping, I supposed. It seemed a long shot, but it was worth a try.

Instead of sitting down to dinner, I made my way towards the elevator, to go and look for the two of them.

I stopped before I got halfway to it, hearing music faintly in the silence of the house. I traced it to its source, and found myself heading down a staircase I rarely use.

The house, which belonged to my parents, was originally intended as a place where my mother could host parties, since she and my father were rather rich, and she seemed to enjoy it. Or so I believe that I recall correctly.

The memory is a funny thing, it can, at times, play tricks on you, and so I am not entirely sure I remember my parents correctly or not.

I followed the music down the stairway and found myself in a dark corridor, standing before a set of double doors I don't recall ever having opened, or at least not in many, many years. The left door was slightly ajar, and it was from this crack, this gap of maybe an inch or so that the music drifted. I stepped up to the door and glanced inside.

Furniture, covered in sheets, filled the outlying space. A ballroom that is unused is very valuable storage space, or at the very least a very practical storage space. The chandelier overhead was lit dimly, and a record player sat on top of one of the covered pieces of furniture.

And in what appeared to be a carefully cleared space, because the marble floor had not a single scratch or scuff mark from a furniture leg on it, Dorothy and Norman were dancing. I watched, entranced, for a few moments by the graceful movement of android and butler, and thought to myself that this was it.

This was the cut above that made Dorothy special, it is why I fought my way past the muscle to hear her sing in the Nightingale club when he wouldn't let me in, and why I went to such lengths to protect her when I could've allowed Beck to take her. This was what made me call her more than 'just an android' and was why I wouldn't be able to treat her like one any longer.

And then, almost as though she was trying to prove her humanity, she accidentally stepped on Norman's foot. It was a gentle pressure, I'm sure, and he smiled down on her as they stopped dancing and she went over, silently, where she had mis-remembered the step she had put on his toe. I took that as my cue to slip away, and see to eating dinner.


	5. Scene Two: Phone Call

**Act Fifteen - Scene Two: Phone Call**

_ 'It had to have been the first time since she's been here that I think Miss Dorothy answered the phone and found that the caller wished to speak with her. I must say she was most surprised, and Master Roger didn't take it at all well.'_

The phone is ringing. I glance up from the newspaper. I make a move to answer it, but someone in another room picks it up. I settle back down. Norman comes into the room carrying the tray of tea, instead of Dorothy. "Norman, where's Dorothy?"

"She's on the phone, sir."

"Oh, on the phone."

I begin going back to my paper before I blink and start a little.

"On the phone? Who would call to talk to Dorothy?" I get quickly from my chair and head out to find her. Absently, I hear Norman's call of, "Check the kitchen, sir," and head there.

"Hello, Smith Residence." It is how I was instructed to answer the phone when a call comes anywhere but Roger's office.

"With whom am I speaking?"

"A servant in the household. Would you like to speak to Norman or Roger, please?"

"The person on the phone now is exactly who I wish to speak with."

"Who is calling?"

"That's of little importance, dear girl."

"On the contrary," I begin, but the voice cuts me off.

"You'll be attending the Saint's Day Ball, won't you, miss?"

"Who is calling?"

"I guess I'll take that as an affirmative. Your counterpart has a habit of answering questions with more questions, it must be a part of your programming. I look forward to seeing you there."

Roger enters the kitchen, and the person on the phone hangs up immediately.

"Dorothy, who was that?" his voice is high, his eyes skeptical.

"I do not know," I respond, hanging up the receiver. I turn back to the dishes and finish washing them. For a moment, Roger stands in the doorway, looking a little disheveled. After a moment of silence in the room he steps over, and rolls up his sleeves to help me with the dishes.

"What did they want?" he asks casually, taking the dishes and starting to dry them with a cloth.

"They asked if I would be attending the Saint's Day Ball."

Roger nearly drops a plate. "Was it a man or a woman?"

"From what I could tell," I catch the slipping plate and hand it to him, "a woman."

"Did you recognize the voice?" He sounds suspicious.

"Not really."

He ponders, and I start to rinse clean dishes again. There is something nagging in the back of my mind... processor. Perhaps I do recognize that voice, only I can not determine exactly from where.

"Roger, you seem reticent to go to the Saint's Day Ball, why is that?"

"Between Heaven's Day and Saint's Day, Paradigm takes a vacation, and Saint's Day is used as a celebratory marker for the start of the new year of business for them."

"I thought it was to remember the deaths of all the people who died in the Incident, Roger."

"Originally, it was."

We continue working on the dishes in silence for a while.

"Dorothy, I was only unhappy about going before because…"

"Master Roger, there is a call in your office for you."

Roger frowns, I think he is upset about the continuous interruptions. I know Norman does not plan them on purpose, but he certainly seems to have excellent timing at catching us, when we are alone, with something business related. He glances at the clock. It is barely seven-thirty.

"You normally hold office hours until nine o'clock, Roger."

"I know," he responds with a grumble and puts his dish into the cabinet with a decisive motion. The noise of the cabinet door closing reverberates long after he is gone from the kitchen, carried off by angry, powerful footsteps, and Norman moves to help me finish drying the dishes.

"Master Roger seemed rather disturbed to be interrupted, Miss Dorothy. Is there any reason for that?" his voice is as unassuming as it always is.

"I'm not entirely sure if there is or not, Norman." I honestly cannot put my finger on it. First the phone call, with that strange voice, and then...

"If you would like to retire," Norman interrupts my thoughts, "I can finish the dishes, Miss Dorothy." He smiles at me kindly, in a fatherly manner. He is part of the reason I have been able to stand staying here for so long. But that is a harsh thought. Originally, it was easy because he reminded me of my father. Now, he is a secondary reason to remain...

"No thank you, Norman."

All I have to say is that it had better be important. I loosen my tie and answer the phone. "Roger Smith here."

"Mr. Negotiator, I know it is rather late in the day to be calling you…" it's a woman's voice. Young. That used to matter more to me.

"My office phone is answered every evening until nine o'clock. So what can I do for you…?" I am being short with her, and even I can hear it in my voice. It is unfair to her, I haven't even met her yet.

"My name is Nadine Fitz, Mr. Negotiator, and I want to hire you." But I'm still measuring her against the young wo... against Dorothy. It's something I can't help anymore.

"Well, Miss Fitz, would you like to set up an appointment to meet with me and discuss your case?" I want to get off this phone. I want to get back to my prior conversation with Dorothy, I want...

"Well I'm just outside, Mr. Neogitator, and a few blocks down. I was hoping… if you have the time, that I could stop by now and go over what's happened with you."

I hold back my sigh. "Please do."

"Are you certain, Mr. Negotiator? You sound rather… tired."

A polite way of saying I sound like I'd rather be doing anything than talking to her.

"I've had a long couple of days, Miss Fitz."

"I could… stop by tomorrow if you're not up to it."

Not up to it? "No, please, Miss Fitz, by all means, drop by."


	6. Interlude: Uninvited Guests

**Act Fifteen - Interlude: Uninvited Guests**

_ 'I really don't think Alex gives enough credit to the people of Paradigm city, or to me. But then, it is his blindness to the strength of those that surround him that makes him so susceptible to his own weaknesses. After I realized that the android wouldn't be deterred from the Ball, I felt it necessary to introduce a few of my own players to even out the odds. I already had it on faith that Schwarzwald would attend, the next person on the list to throw off my dear Alex was someone he thought would be out of the game for a while. Beck Gold.'_

"Hey, hey! Watch thuh suit, it's very expensive!"

The officer guiding Beck down the corridor of the penitentiary rolls his eyes slightly at that implication and continues to shove him forward.

"Maybe where you're coming from, Mr. Gold, but your visitor will most likely remain unimpressed."

"Oh yeah? Who's 'my visitor'?"

"She said you'd remember her when you saw her. Claims to be your sister."

Beck wisely closes his mouth at this point and walks calmly along into the visitation room.

The woman seated regally at the chair, blond hair up in a neat bun on the top of her head looks about as far from being his sister as could be imagined. And then she moves, letting out a squeal and moving to embrace Beck, despite his handcuffs. "Play along. Call me Penny," she says in a low voice.

Beck nods and smiles, hugging her with his chin. "Penny, how long has it been!"

"Too long, big brother! I haven't seen you since we were hip deep in the harbor at fourteen and you got your first sight of the treasury. You always said you'd make the family rich, brother, but I never thought you were serious!"

Skeptically, the guard closes the door on the two of them, and 'Penny Gold' sits at the table, near her 'brother' Beck. "So, _sis_," Beck replies, leaning close to her, "just who are you really and why are you here to see me?"

"I'm here to help you escape."

"Why would you do that?"

"Because I have an interest in you attending the Saint's Day Ball."

"No way, I show there and I land myself right back in here."

"Let me take care of that, would you?" 'Penny' smiles beguilingly at him, and adds, "When I hug you, I'm going to slip something into the back of your jacket. Get out of here and meet me in the tunnels beneath Paradigm's dome."

"If I _do_ decide to do this, lady, what makes you think I won't just run?"

"Simple. I know you want to get back at the Negotiator."

The guard knocks on the door glass at the two of them and 'Penny' smiles. "Well it was wonderful to talk to you, brother, I'm sure I'll see you again real soon, right?"

"Oh, of course, Pen."

'Penny' hugs her brother again and then allows the guard to escort her from the room.

Beck complacently returns to his cell.


	7. Scene Three: Off Duty

**Act Fifteen - Scene Three: Off Duty**

_ 'Sometimes it's easier to forget the past than to come to terms with it. I had thought to leave behind the Military Police, but there was a disturbing trend, it seemed, that lately I was becoming more and more trapped by what I was trying to forget. I supposed it was just one of those times when running headfirst into the thing you're trying to get over is better than trying to hide it under the rug.'_

Nadine Fitz. I should've recognized the name the minute the woman said it, but I didn't. One of the pictures on the mantle downstairs has her brother in it. Jerome Fitz. He was a lieutenant in the Military Police the same time that I was, and last I knew, he was still in the MP.

She is still the same collected, pretty brunette that she was when I knew her years ago, only her prettiness has faded from the stunning beauty it was when she was in her prime. Back then she would have given Angel a run for her money, now, while she would still cause heads to turn, but the blond bombshell might win out in a contest between them.

Unless you decided to bring in personality.

After opening their mouths and having a conversation, Nadine would easily be the chosen woman. The slight smile lines on her face around her eyes and mouth are more than easily overlooked when matching personalities with a heartless woman like Angel.

"I haven't heard from him in a year, Lieutenant Smith, and I thought that because you worked with him…" Her hair is neatly pulled back in a bun and her clothing, while not the latest fashions, is nonetheless well kept and looking smart. I remember how I used to have such a crush on her, when I was working on the force.

"Miss Fitz," I start, glancing at the clock. "I am no longer an officer of the Military Police. I'm just 'Mr. Smith' now."

It's almost eight-forty. She wasn't just around the block, she was down by the precinct. I would rather be spending this time with Dorothy, in all honesty.

The thought is discomforting.

I would rather be spending time with Dorothy than a live woman.

"I am sorry, I realized, I just didn't think that..." Nadine trails off.

But then is she really all that dead? It's the opposite of being alive. No. Dorothy is alive. She thinks, she has a pulse and can be injured… the only thing she doesn't do is eat. And even that she can fake, some. Is it all that necessary that she be completely human for me to consider her a 'live woman'?

She glances around the room pointedly and nods, "Indeed, I suspect you don't need to." There is a hint of reproach in Nadine's voice, one that I also remember from before. She never approved of me, truly. "But I need you to get in touch with Jerome for me. And since you're outside the system, and you were the head of Jerome's squad."

*

I can make out the voices from here. Norman asked me if I would clean the downstairs hallway outside the elevator, and there was no reason that I thought I should deny his request. Now I wonder if he is trying to be helpful in my knowledge of Roger Smith.

I do not know how I feel about that. And I do not know what to say about it.

This 'Miss Fitz' seems to have known Roger long before I even existed.

That is a hard thought to swallow. If one has to swallow thoughts. It is an expression I heard Roger use in relation to something the other day, and one that I do not quite understand. I will have to ask Norman about it later.

I wonder if it will be another one of the 'troublesome' questions that I will be asking Roger. It seems that the more I want to know about the way that humans live their lives, the more troublesome it is to him. I do not know if that is because he is starting to see me as more and more human, or if the memories that are stored within me are starting to make me more of a girl.

Finishing with the dust mop, I turn and head into the side parlor.

The liquor cabinet stands with it's glass doors, tall and straight and silent in the slight darkness of the room. I turn on the light quickly, suddenly afraid of all the darkness and the empty space, and shake my head. It's silly, this reaction of mine. There is nothing, afterall, that can hurt something like me in the darkness. There is nothing in the empty space that should be frightening to me.

And yet, I wonder.

It brings to the forefront of my mind lying undressed on a table while my body was being finished. I recall Timothy Waynewright standing over me with a caring expression on his aged face, and being quite aware of the state of completion of my body. There were people behind him.

And then there was darkness.

A flash of the night that Roger passed out after we tested the cards used in Miss Hope Dorland's 'Psyche' project. The look of pain and wonder on his handsome, I now admit that he is such, face. I step over to the table with picture frames and hourglasses and lift one into the light, inspecting the sand within.

After a long moment, I set the hourglass on the well-waxed table top, turned over, and sit on my haunches to watch the sand run out.

*

"Miss Fitz, that was a long time ago." The look on her face tells me that it doesn't matter to her, and I bite back my sigh. "You do realize there's a fee involved in my services…" I have a feeling she's wasting both of our time. The Fitz family was never very well off, not that they were poor, but the siblings all held jobs, last I knew.

"Of course I do, Mr. Negotiator. I may not have known you were no longer with the Military Police, but I am aware that you charge for your services. Major Dastun was the one who told me to seek you out, and he mentioned that. I told him that my husband will be more than glad to pay you for bringing word of my brother to us."

"Dastun?" He's never recommended someone come to me before.

Either he's really busy, or he doesn't have a clue how to handle Jerome's case. I hope it's the first, but it is more than likely the later of the two. Something he'd like to help with but Paradigm won't let him. It's happened before. And Nadine was always a caring sister to all of her brothers. I give it a quick thought… he was, afterall, something of a friend to me when I was on the force…

"The Major does not know what's become of Jerome either, and apparently he doesn't have the time to care what's become of my brother, so he sent me to you to solve one of his personnel problems."

"And if your brother is deceased, Miss Fitz?"

"Then you will get your fee, and I will get my answer."

An easy enough decision to make.

"Do you have a number where I can reach you?"

She takes out a card and writes on the back of it in pen before handing it to me. "So does this mean-" her voice is breathless and hopeful, for all her reticence and withdrawn nature before she seems eager now, and there's a light in her eyes that wasn't there moments before when she was chiding me. It's endearing, and it brings back the spark of beauty that was in her when she was younger.

"I'll take the case, Miss Fitz… though it will be a few days before I can get back to you with anything. You must realize how close it is to the Saint's Day Ball."

She smiles broadly, and takes the hand I extend to shake hers in a firm grip, "I understand. But the last I knew, Roger Smith, you hated that holiday, and never celebrated it."

She rises and I see her to the door.

"Things change."

"I'd be interested to meet her."

I choke on my breath and blink, holding the door open for her personally.

Just before she turns to step out into the light snow, she stops and turns to embrace me. "Thank you, Roger." I blink and she continues, "I didn't believe what Dastun said about you for a minute, you know. And I'm sure Jerome didn't either. Thank you," she repeats, and quickly lets me go and turns to disappear into the night.

I turn to get back into the elevator when I see the mop and bucket set neatly to the side. I glance around, and for a long moment I cannot decide who was cleaning the floor here. And then I hear the noise of an hourglass being set down in the room to the side, where I keep the alcohol.

No. Not a single hour glass.

Many.

There is a quick movement overturning them all, I realize, and turn to look in on her through the doorway. She hears me, and asks a question, "Roger, how do you swallow a thought?"

I blink, my eyebrows lifting on my forehead, and try to understand the question a little better. But she obviously doesn't mind not getting a proper response, because she doesn't prompt me with a clarification. Instead, she seems entirely focused on the hourglasses before her.

I know what they mean to me, but not what they mean to her. What is it that she thinks of when she looks at the shifting sands in the small glass containers?

"I dislike taking people so late."

*

"You did not know she would be here so late, if I am not mistaken," I reply. He steps into the room and closes the door behind him. His words mean something else, I think. Something he won't say aloud to me, yet. "If you did not want to be disturbed, you should have turned off the phone in your office."

"You have a point there, Dorothy," he says, crossing to the fireplace to glance at the pictures on the mantle. I moved the hour glasses into this room earlier when cleaning, and so that the sunlight would not bleach the wood that they are made of. There are mostly dark woods in their construction, though there are several larger ones made of pine that I left in the drawing room.

"If you are cold, we could start a fire in the fireplace," I say, noticing that he has his arms folded in front of him. I turn my head so that I can watch him. I like to watch him. The rise and fall of his shoulders when he breathes, the gentle motion of the fabric on his frame as he does the simplest of things.

It is at the same time constant, and less constant, as the sand in the hourglasses that I have overturned. "Don't be ridiculous, Dorothy, why would I be cold?"

"Because your breath is making steam in the air, and that means that the temperature is near freezing in the room. It is only natural to feel coldness, Roger."

He glances half at me, over his shoulder, "Do you feel cold, Dorothy?"

"Yes," I admit, quietly.

"What else do you feel?" he asks, kneeling to gather some of the wood from the container next to the fireplace and setting it up inside the iron basket inside the opening. After a long moment, I rise and retrieve the matches from the far end table drawer.

"Darkness," I say, settling down on my knees next to him and offering the matches. He smiles and takes them from me, lighting the fire before standing and turning off the lights in the room.

I glance at him and he pauses on his way back over to me.

"Is that too dark?"

"Are you going to leave?"

"Of course not. I wouldn't have lit the fire if I was planning to go back upstairs. We could've gone together, and it would've been-" he stops his words and simply shakes his head. "No. I'm staying."

"Then it is fine."

He crosses and sits beside me, stretching his long legs towards the fireplace. "You said," he begins, and then stops himself, turning his eyes towards the fire.

"Would you like a drink, Roger?"

"What?"

"A drink."

"Not particularly." He leans back, against the lower end of one of the sitting chairs in the room, and tilts his head up towards the ceiling with a sigh.

As quietly as I can, I scoot over next to him and lean my head against his chest.

The sensation is awkward at first, having her leaning against me. The ribs that I broke aren't entirely well healed yet, but they seem to hold up well under the pressure of her. And she was the one to nurse me back to health, so she should know, quite easily, what weight I can and cannot stand on what parts of my body. I start to comment, but instead find that it is easier simply to put an arm around her and let her fingers rest gently on the lapel of my jacket.

I did not know that Dorothy rested.

Recalling back to when we were last this close to one another, it is comforting to have her so close. I thought, when she was shot, that there would be nothing left of her to hold on to. It was a scary thought.

And the only other time she got this close to me, or at least the only memorable time, she was not herself. I cannot afford to believe that she was entirely in control when she said the things she said to me. Or that her actions were her own. It reminded me much of when Timothy was attacked by Beck's men at the Nightengale club, and she reacted to protect him.

I don't believe she is programmed to injure humans.

And even if she were, I do not think that she would ever attack me.

She settles more comfortably against me, rubbing her cheek gently against my jacket. I wonder if she gets cold, in the darkness, at night. When she powers down… is it like when we dream?


	8. Interlude: Streak of Luck

**Act Fifteen - Interlude: A Streak of Luck**

_ 'They say the third time's a charm. I wasn't willing to go so far with Beck, but once Alex found out he had been liberated from prison, he decided, rather than to have him buried, to give him what he wanted for the revenge that the thief sought against the Negotiator.'_

"So what exactly is this thing?"

"My instructions, Mr. Beck," the deliveryman says, tipping his glasses up and tucking his folder beside himself, "were simply to deliver the package to this address and see that there was a signature made."

"Paradigm wouldn't have sent someone like you to deliver something if it was important."

Four large men in white jump suits get the crate off the truck, he shrugs his shoulders. "Are you going to sign for it or not?"

"Yeah yeah, whatever." He takes the clipboard from me and signs the sheet. After retrieving it, the man turns and heads back to the truck, his men following him.

*

Standing silently in the warehouse of the Paradigm corporation, Angel glances at the outgoing shipments for the day, looking a little disturbed. What had Alex had sent to Beck? How had he even known that Beck was out of prison?

"May the heavens save you from what devil Alex has had delivered to you, Beck. I didn't mean for things to turn out this way," she hands the clipboard back to the shipping supervisor and turns to head back to the elevator.

*

"Bring it inside real careful like, boys."

"Yeah boss."

The two of them with a handtruck move the heavy crate inside, and then pull out the crowbars, opening the front and letting the packing material spill out onto the warehouse floor. "What sort of uh sick game is this?" Beck asks the two goons. "What's that braud tryin' tuh pull with this? I got no use for little Dorothy Waynewright."

"Are you so sure it's that same robot, boss? It looks a little… different."

"I agree," the second of Beck's men says. "There's something off about this one. She don't look nearly as pleasant as that lady android we had kidnapped before."

"Fine, numbskulls, go ahead and turn her on and lets see who we got in thuh box… eh?"

Finding the appropriate switch, the second man turns on the robot.

Immediately, two dark eyes snap open, and a sinister smile curves the pale lips. "Well well. What do we have here?"

"I was wunderin' thuh same thing myself," Beck says. "Just who are you?"

"I am R*D."

The cold, mechanical voice did not so much as disturb Beck as it does chill him, in the same manner it might chill Roger Smith. He recoils, slightly. "R what?"

"You can call me Red, if it makes you more comfortable," the pale skinned robot says, removing herself from the box and brushing off her clothing in a proprietary gesture that echoed of the other android with the same face.

Beck eyes her closely, trying to see what his men had seen in her. "Why'd yuh get sent tuh me?"

"Because, we both want the same thing."

Beck chokes out a laugh. "Like androids can want anything."

"Think what you like," the android says, "but I desire the death of Roger Smith as much as you do. And if we work together, we've got a better chance at getting what we want. That is why I was sent to you."


	9. Scene Four: The Feeling of Anxiety

**Act Fifteen – Scene Four: The Feeling of Anxiety**

_ 'Miss Dorothy had been acting most peculiar, before it happened. I was going to check over her programming for glitches and run a system diagnostic in the morning after they returned because so much of my time was consumed with repairing Big O. I wonder if I had made time to run the check before they left if things would've gone differently.'_

I wonder if this is what excitement feels like. I step out of my room, straightening my skirt, and step over to play the piano. It is a quarter past ten, and time for Roger to get up. The ball is this evening, and my dress has been approved by Roger. Norman says that it looks stunning on me, and he has never lied to me before. I play the keys of the piano with a slight smile, and even find myself humming along.

"I'm up, thank you Dorothy," Roger says amicably as he steps out of his bedroom and heads into the bathroom. I acknowledge him with a nod of my head and continue to play, swaying my head to the music a little because I like the sound of it. That, and he hasn't told me to stop.

Once, when I stopped without his asking, he asked me to continue. It is nothing I have made him do since, because I know that he would do it. And for me, it is enough to know that he enjoys my playing.

"Breakfast is ready, Master Roger."

"On my way Norman." He comes out of the bathroom and pauses as he enters the sitting room to look at me, finally. "When did you get that outfit, Dorothy?"

Perhaps there is something redeemable underneath the louse exterior he presents. "When you got your new jacket tailored, Roger."

"When did you start wearing it, then?"

I do not respond. I don't like to remind him that the first day I wore this outfit was when I was shot protecting him. "Dorothy?" he prompts me.

"The day that I was shot."

He pauses and then moves into the dining room. I remain seated, playing the piano.

After a moment, Norman enters the sitting room and heads into Roger's bedroom to gather the laundry and straighten it. I give him a faint smile and he nods to me. Norman is a nice man, I've decided, no matter what else he is, he is agreeable. He taught me to dance when he could have, as easily, programmed my mind to.

Norman comes out of Roger's bedroom and I slowly stop playing the piano. I rise and pass Roger as he is on his way out of the dining room. "You'll have to excuse me for a while, Roger, I'm off to pick up your tuxedo."

He nods to me, hiding his expression behind a hand as he pretends to yawn, but even I can see the smile on his face as he looks at me. He has been smiling at me more often than he used to, and he has not been waking up at night with bad dreams nearly as often. Last night he had none, and it was peaceful sleep for him three nights in a row before that.

I step into the elevator and head down, unable to contain myself, almost, from humming softly.

Perhaps this is what it feels like to be anxious.

*

"Be sure to pick up her flower when you go out today, Norman."

"Yes, Master Roger."

He is still up here. Odd.

"Norman?"

"Yes, sir?"

"How are the repairs to Big O coming along?"

"Big O is almost complete, sir, I've only to secure the armor to the frame and reload the ammunition." He is washing dishes, and so I peak my head into the kitchen.

"Really?"

"Yes, sir, I have no reason to lie about Big O's completion status. He should be finished before you return from the party this evening."

"Good to hear it, Norman." There is silence for a moment as I button up my shirt and look at myself in the small mirror in the kitchen. "About tonight…"

"I won't wait up, sir."

I blink that was not the answer I was anticipating. "Norman, what do you mean by that?"

"Nothing, sir, except to imply that I know you will show Miss Dorothy a good time, and you won't be in need of dinner upon your return. I thought that after I finished Big O I would turn in."

I smile, "You do that, Norman. You work hard." It's odd that Norman seems to be protective of her. Paternal, almost. But always guarding of her, moreso than me.

"I'm nothing more than a glorified mechanic, Master Roger."

I laugh and he winks at me with his one good eye before starting to dry the dishes.

*

Even though I know only the same amount of time as any day has passed, it seems that it has been an eternity since I left the house to pick up his tuxedo and returned with it. And an eternity since lunch, and the early dinner he ate and I sat through. Then he had me turn off his office telephone, and we excused ourselves from one another to go and dress. Norman was the one to zip up the back of my dress, and then the one to hand me my gloves, mentioning that he had already done his part for Roger.

"You'll have to tie his bowtie, Miss Dorothy," he adds.

"Why is that, Norman?"

"He won't allow me to do it for him, and I've some final repairs to complete on Big O."

"Goodnight then, Norman," I say with a smile.

"Goodnight," he replies, and as he is out the door, I hear him add softly, "Cinderella."

I chuckle to myself and step out into the top floor drawing room to look for Roger.

Just as Norman said, Roger stands waiting on me, his tie undone. Outside it is dark, almost too dark for me to make him out properly. The lights inside are low, most likely we're close to another brown out. I extend a gloved hand and he gives the black silk bowtie to me, leaning down so that I can properly reach his neck to make short work of a perfect bowtie.

His skin is warm when I brush my fingers against it, even through the fabric of my gloves. The light in the room seems soft, and it reflects off of the lid of the piano. I've had it tuned, that instrument, and it feels much more proper now. As the instructions in my programming on it recommend, and Instro's teaching as well.

"That's done," he says, extending his arm towards me to take. "Shall we go?"

I nod, taking his arm and stepping into the brighter lit hallway with him. There is a long mirror that we pass, and I pause, tugging his arm slightly to stop, glancing at the pair of our reflections illuminated in the high hall.

"Do I pass inspection?" he asks in a soft voice.

I nod my head slowly, afraid, truly, to speak, for lack of control of my own voice. This must be what anticipation feels like, because I am nervous, suddenly, and afraid. He lifts his free hand to Norman, who stands waiting on us, and the tall butler drapes his long winter jacket over it.

"I trust the two of you will have a wonderful time at the ball tonight, sir." Norman offers me a smile.

"I don't expect to be the one turning heads, Norman," Roger says, smiling at me.

"Of course not sir." The butler offers me a sympathetic smile. "However you must endeavor to be careful," that last bit he adds almost as an afterthought, in little more than a whisper. I do not think that Roger heard the warning that Norman gave him. But I am too nervous to speak, and so I don't mention it.

We head to the elevator and he opens the grate before following me inside. Absently I notice how full the elevator feels with the skirt of my dress riding with us.

I mention it to him, and he smiles. "Well at least let me be the first partygoer to tell you how good you look," he adds, eyes glancing over me even in the cramped space of the elevator. We reach the first floor and he opens the gate of the elevator for me, stopping as he leads me towards the stairs down to the garage. I turn to look up at him and from under his long coat he pulls a small box.

"What's this, Roger?"

"A corsage."

I look up at him as he carefully pins it on my dress, giving me a slightly nervous smile before retracting his hands. I look at my reflection in the hallway mirror, and find a slight smile on my own painted lips. He shrugs his way into his own jacket, smoothing the shoulders and settling the white scarf around the collar.

"You look... beautiful," he says.

"Thank you, Roger. Though I don't think I'll get many other compliments tonight."

"Only if they've all been struck blind, Dorothy, only if everyone there is blind." He steps over to the hall closet and opens the door.

"What do you mean by that?"

"You're… you're a beautiful young woman, Dorothy."

"Were you blind, Roger Smith?"

He clears his throat. "I've got something else for you. No lady should show up to a ball in this sort of cold weather without being properly covered." From the closet he takes a dark gray fur wrap and crosses to put it over my shoulders.

"Are we ready to go yet?" I ask, feeling suddenly like there are a hundred eyes on me. He smiles and steps over to the door, opening it to the garage and motioning for me to precede him down.

"As you wish."


	10. Interlude: Shaded Corners

**Act Fifteen – Interlude: Shaded Corners **

_ 'When we arrived, it was so much like the last time I was there that I was shocked, a little, and felt that I was being a bad escort to Dorothy, who had never been to a celebration of this sort before. I felt guilty, and nervous, and we escaped each other's awkwardness at the first chance.'_

The ballroom was well decorated, even though the Military Police had been having a hard year raising funds. The Force had been taking losses, it seemed, left and right. The people gathered were not all aware of the financial difficulties, most knew only what was published in the papers, but even those that were aware of the money troubles managed to overlook it that evening. Everyone that was gathered was in the spirit of the holidays and more than willing to overlook the trials of the last year for an evening of relaxation and entertainment.

The band was arranged on stage, and a woman stepped up to the microphone and began to sing an old jazz song. It touched him every time he heard it sung. The song was one he could vaguely remember his mother singing when she would be doing housework when he was a child.

"So, Roger," a woman's voice said from just behind him. "Do you dance as well, or do you just ogle the singer?"

"Nadine," he said, turning and offering her a charming smile. In his formal uniform he looked even taller than normal, and his eyes sparkled in the dim lighting. And then his smile fell slightly. "I… I'm sorry about-"

"What happened to Jean and the others wasn't your fault, Roger," the pretty brunette woman says. "Even though the family hasn't forgiven you, I have."

"And why might that be, Nadine? You never seemed to think much of me before."

"Jerome," she said, indicating a tall, similarly featured young man across the room, "had a less than glowing opinion of you, before… one that's changed, after all that's happened."

"He should have the worst opinion of me of everyone. Jean was his partner, after all." Roger lowered his head slightly, only to have Nadine reach out with one hand and tilt his chin up.

"This is supposed to be a celebration, Roger," she smiles at him and then nervously glances out at the dance floor, "and here we are standing around talking about unpleasant things in a corner. Usually you're the bell of the ball at these functions."

"I just," Roger pauses, turning his own eyes out at the dance floor, and the ladies he had brushed off in his attempt to be alone in the crowd, "didn't really feel much like dancing tonight."

"Well, I'm afraid that before this conversation attracts the rather scandalous acclaim you're known for, we'd better step out onto the dance floor. Whether you like it or not."

With a kind smile of acceptance, Roger offers Nadine his arm and the two of them head out onto the floor, under the watchful eyes of both Captain Dan Dastun and Lieutenant Jerome Fitz, who had finished his dance and stepped over to greet his commanding officer.


	11. Scene Five: Ghost Waltz

**Act Fifteen – Scene Five: Ghost Waltz**

_ 'The night was indeed quite magical, or so it was according to all I have read. The lighting was dim, and the decorations were sweeping gauze swathes that went from the balconies to the large central chandelier that seemed, somehow, to simulate the glow of sunset or twilight, given the color of the room's backdrops. There was music and dancing. Women wore beautiful gowns and the men were all attired in immaculate tuxedos. The only thing that seemed missing to me was a carriage, though I suppose the Gryphon is very close to what would currently pass as one. I truly felt like Cinderella while we were waiting to get in.'_

Her curious question follows the two of them all the way from the house and through the Gryphon into the entrance hall of the grand ballroom located in the main dome where Paradigm Corporation's main office buildings were housed, and the innocent words leave Roger feeling lost and confused throughout the early part of the evening as they mingle with the other guests pleasantly. After a short time of milling about, the introductory lines are formed, and the non-MP guests file around to the staff to introduce themselves, as is customary before entering the ball.

"That's a lovely escort you brought with you tonight, Roger Smith," one of the other patrons, a man called David North, says to him. "Wherever did you find her?"

"In the downstairs hallway," Dorothy says in reply, wrapping the dark gray fur tighter around herself with her free hand. Roger glances questioningly at her, not quite sure if she's being sarcastic or not, before he smiles pleasantly at the man in charge of Paradigm's financial holdings. The invitation in his hands has gold lining, and his own arm is empty of an escort. There is a streak of gray in his hair that doesn't quite seem to make him look any older than Roger.

"And a quick wit as well," David smiles at the two of them.

"Dorothy Waynewright, may I introduce you to Mr. David North. Mr. North, Miss Dorothy Waynewright," Roger says, glancing forward at the crowded line to get into the main ballroom.

"The pleasure is all mine, I assure you," Mr. North replies, extending a gloved hand to take Dorothy's. Lifting her small hand, he bends to kiss the air just above it.

Dorothy glances askance at Roger.

"And mine as well, Mr. North."

"It was nice to have run into you, Mr. North, but it's our turn to go in," Roger says, glancing suspiciously at the well dressed slightly older man. "Dorothy, say good evening to Mr. North."

"I hope you enjoy the party, Mr. North," she replies, making a near-perfect curtsy to the taller man and tucking her hand more firmly through Roger's arm. David smiles as the two of them progress through the doorway, and as she glances over her shoulder, Dorothy asks, "Did you know that man, Roger? He seemed to make you quite uncomfortable."

"No one special." He stands straight and tall and hands their invitation to the waiting doorman.

"I don't believe you," Dorothy says, tilting her chin from the scrutiny of the black jacketed concierge. Her gloved hand resting securely on Roger's tuxedo-clad forearm. The man, in response, motions the two of them inside.

Eyes raised, Dorothy gets a good look at the overhead decorations as she enters, the large, ornate chandelier casting its soft glowing light down through the tent-like ceiling of strips of gauze. Above the chandelier the ceiling of the ballroom has been masked in black, with small sparkles of some sort catching the soft light. On the polished dance floor couples stand in groups or float over the dance floor, gliding gracefully, the bright colors of the women's winter formal wear vivid against the simple blacks and whites of the men's tuxedos and the gray and navy of the Force uniforms against mirrored doubles moving upside-down.

Unwarranted, a smile spreads across Dorothy's face. "May I take the lady's coat?" a young woman asks with a smile. Turning to look at the woman, the android's eyes widen to see a girl dressed in a bright red dress with white ruff on it. Gently, Roger extends his arm, shrugging out of the long coat and white scarf he has been wearing and handing it to a similarly dressed young man who hands him a ticket.

Letting the wrap loosen and then fall off of her shoulders into the girl's waiting arms, Dorothy adjusts the fall of her dress self-consciously.

"Shall we?" Roger asks, motioning towards the dance floor.

Before Dorothy can reply, Dastun steps over, a friendly smile on his face. "I didn't think I'd ever see you here, Roger."

"It's a special occasion this year, Dastun."

"We're both off duty, _Roger_."

"You're right, I suppose, Dan."

"That's more like it."

Dorothy turns her eyes to the dance floor and sees Hope and her father. She lifts her hand to the young woman, and in response, Hope bows her head slightly before returning her bored gaze to the conversation her father is having.

"Congratulations on getting those statues back, by the way," Dastun comments, taking two glasses of champagne from one of the passing waiters and handing one to Roger.

"I take it Mr. Dorland was on the guest list to the festivities?" he asks, looking down at Dorothy to see her attention drawn across the dance floor.

"Not specifically," Dastun replies, glancing to the side.

"I see. So who's the lucky lady you decided to bring this year, Dan?"

"No one as beautiful as the one on your arm, Roger. Just an old friend of a friend. She's powdering her nose at the moment."

Glancing momentarily at Dorothy, Roger takes a sip of his champagne. "She has a name, doesn't she?"

"Nadine Fitz," a woman's voice replies before Dastun can. A white gloved hand rests on the shoulder of his dress uniform and Major Dastun turns to include her in the small circle of the three of them talking.

"Miss Fitz, it's quite a surprise to see you here," Roger says.

"If the three of you will excuse me," Dorothy says, taking her hand from Roger's arm gently.

"Dorothy?" he asks in question.

"I would like to get some fresh air."

"If you say so," Roger says, a little confused, but accepting. It doesn't take a rocket scientist, or even someone terribly observant to notice Dorothy's frequent and almost nervous looks from her gloved hands to the dance floor where officers of the Military Police and their escorts or patrons of the ball and their dates were moving gracefully to the music of the band that was playing on the main stage.

The song turns to a waltz as Roger watches Dorothy cross towards one of the staircases, heading for an outdoor balcony.

"Don't worry, Mr. Smith," Nadine says in a quiet voice, "you just make her nervous is all."

"It seems she does the same for him," Dastun comments momentarily, looking at Roger's absorbed expression.


	12. Interlude: Brush with the Past

**Act Fifteen – Interlude: Brush with the Past**

"If I had known what would happen, I never would have let her go outside. I never would have let her out of my sight. But then thinking things like that is like thinking I could've done something to stop what happened. And I'm most certain that I could not have."

On my way outside, I passed an old man on the staircase. He paused, looking at me from under the wrinkled folds of his brow, and offered me a kind smile. "You look stunning this evening, my dear," he said in a kind voice. "Your father would be most proud of you this evening. You look every inch the young lady."

"What do you know of my father?" I asked in a quiet voice. It disturbed me that someone I did not recognize might recognize me. And then I got a better glimpse of his face as he turned me towards him.

I knew that face, from when Roger had trouble working through his last case, and from the long ago darkness of the 'operating room' table that was my creation place.

Gordon Rosewater.

I had thought the old man would be dead by now.

"Soldano was quite the craftsman. Even the real Dorothy would've been flattered by your likeness to her."

I did not quite know how to respond. As far as any of the other guests at the ball knew, I was just another escort to one of the guests, or maybe a guest myself. He turned to me and leaned over to take my gloved hand, kissing my cheek. But this particular guest was different. He knew me, most likely everything about me, and some things I did not know myself.

"You're warmer than she is, you know."

"Warmer than who?"

Dastun steps away from me, taking Nadine out onto the dance floor. I look for Dorothy, but she is nowhere in sight. I feel, suddenly, as nervous as she must have, standing beside me and excluded from the conversation. I hadn't realized how tense the air between us was, after David was left behind in the entrance hall. But there is no reason for my nervousness, and so I try to shake it off.

I look for Dorothy again, and cannot see her. Where would she go? In my glancing around, I find David talking quietly with a small knot of older businessmen. She isn't with him… and she wouldn't know anyone else to go and talk to…

"Long time no see, Roger Smith."

"Angel," I turn and find that she is right behind me, resplendent in her usual pinks, with her blond hair done up with gems in it.

"I was wondering if you could spare a dance for an old friend."

"You're hardly someone I'd call an old friend, Angel."

"We've not been through enough to be familiar with one another, you mean? I don't think that's entirely correct, Roger." She steps around in front of me. "You seem distracted by something."

"I am," I find my eyes still scanning the crowd, "escorting someone this evening, and she decided to take a step outside for some fresh air. I was just looking to see if she'd come back inside."

"That's not very gentlemanly of you, Roger, letting a lady see herself outside like that," Angel smiles brightly at me, and again I am struck by her beauty, and how empty it is. She might as well have been made a doll, the way that Dorothy was supposed to be.

Odd that I find her more human than I find Angel.

"You obviously don't know her so well."

"Who is she?" her voice is bright, and calls my eyes over to her. "Do I know her?"

But Angel can be just as human as any other woman. And just as jealous.

"You were the last person I'd ever have thought to have been particular about who I spend time with, Angel."

"Everyone has dreams, Roger Smith. Everyone."

I smile faintly at her. You can't help but admire such honesty, in such a spectacular environment, from such a beautiful woman, no less, it's almost impossible to ignore. I had been saving my dances for Dorothy, but under the circumstances…

"Would you like to dance, Angel?"

She blinks back the brightness in her eyes, and I can tell that there is a genuine look of shock on her face, not just random confusion. I extend a hand that she glances at mistrustfully for a moment, and then she finally takes it. "You're a dangerous man, Roger Smith," she says as I lead her out onto the dance floor.

"Dangerous for who?" I reply, stepping up to take her in my arms for the waltz.

"You endangered yourself by coming here, Roger. Why did you come?"

"It's not something I would expect you to understand, Angel."

"Because I'm a heartless monster?" her voice is empty, detached, and she leans her head to the side, eyes drifting away from me. "Appearances can be deceiving, Roger Smith."

"Now Angel, tonight is supposed to be a joyous occasion."

"This coming from the man who hates Paradigm?" She stills, drawing away from me as the large clock in the entrance hall begins to chime, not quite midnight. The strikes of the clock shake me, and she steps farther away. "You who celebrate nothing? That's a good joke, Negotiator."

Gordon had no answer to my question, but instead turned and walked over to the edge of the landing that overlooked the dance floor. He said nothing, but looked down very pointedly.

I thought he was talking about the "real" Dorothy Waynewright, whom I have never known.

But I was wrong.

It was seeing the two of them dancing that drove me out to the balcony, despite my curiosity at what Gordon had meant. I had decided that I was suitably reorganized to return to Roger Smith, mostly because it was safer, in my mind, than staying in Gordon's questionable presence, but once my eyes caught sight of the pink dress swirling with him on the dance floor, that all changed.

My hand lifted slowly to the shoulder of my own gown, much darker, made mostly of velvet, and I did not realize that I had the flower torn off and was crumpling it in my hand until the long pin in it stuck into my hand and I was alerted to what damage I was doing to my pseudoskin.

"You have done yourself damage, Miss Waynewright," Gordon said, looking sidelong at me.

At that, I turned and stalked out into the cold. I was not followed.

I was not programmed to be bothersome.

If he wished to spend his evening on the dance floor with _that woman_, then it was his choice, as far as I was concerned.

"Well I'd love to take up your entire dance card, Miss Angel…"

"Just Angel," she corrects swiftly. "I'd think that after so much time you'd be comfortable calling me that, Roger."

"As I said. I should look for my own escort." I glance up at the upper balcony. "And it appears that someone is watching the two of us rather intently. I'd hate to make Alex Rosewater jealous."

She flushes, and starts to say something before thinking better of it and sweeping a curtsy and heading towards a staircase with two guards at the foot of it.


	13. Scene Six: Leg Work

**Act Fifteen – Scene Six: Leg Work**

"One thing that I taught Roger Smith was how to do a little polite digging and find your own buried treasure. Something that's been bothering me since the night of the Ball was why there were two of them. Because I'm absolutely certain that the dour, reserved young woman staying with Roger and the off-kilter one that was on Beck's arm were two different people."

"I am very sorry, Major Dastun, but Roger Smith has not left his bedroom since returning home two days ago. I will make sure that he gets the message that you dropped by."

"Thank you, Mr. Berg." He leads me down the entrance hall and opens the door for me.

"Have there been any leads on the whereabouts of Miss Dorothy?"

"Not a peep, unfortunately. I was hoping that Roger could shed some light on something for me."

"And what might that be, Major?"

"Why ever were _two _of that same robot built?"

"She is an android." The butler looks at me with an uncanny silence about him. His single eye widens slightly, and then narrows in contemplation. When he finally speaks, it is not to answer my question, but instead, "I will think on that, Major, and get back to you. Have a pleasant day."

I step out onto the street and adjust the cap on my head. Shelby snaps to attention as I near the squad car, but when she makes a move to start the engine, I wave her off. "I'm going to head back on my own. I've got to do a little walking. It'll clear my head."

The Speakeasy.

I showed Roger this bar when he was first a rookie in my squad on the force. Told him it was a good place to find information, if you had to. From the looks of it, still is.

"Dan Dastun. Been quite some time since the back of the room was graced with your presence." He glances down his newspaper without meeting my eyes. "Wouldn't have anything to do with the Negotiator's sudden illness, would it?"

"Perhaps it does."

"Information on that little turn of events would be a hot commodity, if anyone had it."

"I'm not interested in speculating why Roger's gotten ill," I reply, taking a seat beside the man. I never remember his real name, I just know that when I need something, the pink glasses and newspaper are always waiting to tell me. Big Ear is his cover name, if I recall.

"Then what is it you're looking for on this side of town? It's a long way from the headquarters."

"I need to know a little bit about Timothy Waynewright."

"The dead scientist who created R. Dorothy."

"Yeah."

"Cases generally close when someone dies, Dan."

"Not this one."

"All right. Timothy Norbert Waynewright had a daughter before the Incident. Whatever there was of that daughter that he remembered went into the memory banks of the android he created in her likeness-"

"What about the daughter?"

"I wasn't finished."

"I'm more interested in finding out about the daughter."

"The only thing I can tell you about her is that supposedly she was the spitting image of the android created to be her living monument."

"What did you just say?"

"Android?"

"Living…"

"Monument."

I get to my feet quickly, tossing idle thanks to the man as I turn to the door. There was some record of a 'monument' in the case files on Waynewright that were made when he was killed at the Nightingale Club.

"Major Dastun, there is something else you should know."

I freeze in my tracks, turning to regard the man, who is not looking at me, but rather at his newspaper. I slowly sit back in my chair. "Go on."

"There are people in Paradigm who don't mind what happened to Roger Smith. There always have been. He's made some definite enemies there where before they was only mistrustful opposition before. Be careful you don't get caught as his only defender there."

"You're saying that Paradigm is behind this?"

"Someone, but no one at all."

I look at Big Ear for a long moment, waiting to see if he has more to say. He still does not meet my eye, and then when he does, I know that there were some things that he would not say to me anywhere. It is the problem with being an informant, you have to know who could be given what you knew. He obviously has told me everything that is prudent to tell me, and it seems like there was more to it than that. He has told me more than he felt he should have.

I rise, again, and head out the door of the tavern.

I eventually find myself back at the precinct. It was hours between my two stops, and I do not know what passed between them, but I drove the streets outside the domes as I hadn't since before Roger left the Force.

I am surprised to find Roger's butler seated and waiting outside my office. He rises the second he sees me enter the hallway.

"Has something happened to Roger, Mr. Berg?"

"No. But I was running the day's errands, and I thought about the question that you asked. Why two were built."

I unlock the door to my office and push it open, motioning for him to follow as I step inside and shrug out of my jacket. He closes the door behind him, and sits down in the chair across from my desk. "Coffee?"

"No, thank you, Major."

I pour myself a cup, thankful it is still hot. It's a long hard day that's spent walking a beat looking for information that no one wants to give. It was always one of Roger's specialties, not mine. I step around my desk and sit down, leaning back and setting my hat on the desktop. "Go ahead."

And as Norman begins to speak, I know the day can't have been a total loss.

"You have to realize that the way that Master Roger came into his position as Negotiator has always been something that I have never been quite sure I remember correctly," Norman says. "But that not withstanding, something in my own memory that came to mind after you left this morning was that there is no reason to build only one expensive thing when you can build two without the cost looking much different."

"You'll forgive me if I don't follow, Mr. Berg," I say, taking another sip of the warm coffee in my hands. "I've never been much for corporate strategy."

Norman glances at me with a look that tells me he sees through that particular statement, and then continues in the same gentle way. "I think that perhaps it was a way of Soldano justifying his investment in Timothy Waynewright's dream that caused him to have the second android built."

"That doesn't make any sense. Why would Waynewright have built two of the same robot, if it was to replace the vision of his daughter that seemed to be haunting him so?"

"That question came to my mind as well, Major," the butler says, glancing down at his hands, which are resting on his long black coat. "And the only answer I have for that is to say that it was not Timothy Waynewright who built the second android."

"Which would explain the differences in the programming of the two robots."

"Androids," Norman corrects me again, his voice stiff and proper. "Miss Dorothy is an android, not a robot."

I shrug and get up off the desk, pacing. "But Waynewright made that second one, didn't he? Dorothy I, wasn't it called? The megaduce…"

"Yes." Norman stands. "But that is what I thought of, and I believed that it could be of some use to you. I do hope your search is going well."

"Right, my search," I run my hand over my head. It hasn't been going much of anywhere, really. I don't want to let Roger down, but…

"I'm sure you are doing your best, Major," Norman says, fixing his own coat over his shoulders before turning for the door.

I sigh, and sink down into my chair.

As the butler steps out of the office, closing the door behind him, I contemplate what I've learned. It does smell horribly like Paradigm is tired of him, in hindsight, in regards to what Big Ear said. Ever since that curious incident before the three Megaduces showed up out of the bay, I've had that feeling.

But I always thought he could take care of himself, I guess, and with the robot…

No.

Android.

No.

With the android around, _ and _ the butler…

No.

With Dorothy and Norman, I thought he would be all right. I knew he would be.

Even if he couldn't tell me, I've known there was some secret he has. Something dangerous. Norman knows it as well, whether he remembers it or not, and won't betray his master. More dangerous than what lead him to leave the Military Police.

I guess I just wasn't expecting the secret that he'd kept from me would be _this_ dangerous to him.

And I can't protect him now. He's put himself too far on the other side of my jurisdiction for it to seem like casual interest. Private, non-dome dwelling citizens are not my concern, officially.

But even I have friends.

There is something that I can do, I am sure of it. Now I just have to figure out how to get it done. I do not know anyone in Roger's clientele, they aren't the sort of people that turn to the police for assistance. I cannot confront Paradigm with accusations, especially not based on sources I will not name. I learned that… a long time ago.

But I cannot just sit by and do nothing.

In the background, the clock ticks, and I think of the sand in an hourglass.

Roger has some fascination with them, and I am beginning to understand, more and more, why that could be. They are good for thinking with. Something to hold the trouble and release it slowly at the same time. My mind goes blank for a long moment.

I think of Roger laying in his bedroom.

Hiding there.

But from what?

If the kidnapper, if you can call it that, of this R. Dorothy of his was after him, there was as much a chance to injure him or attack him at the ball as there was to grab her. Nothing like this has ever affected Roger this much.

He's been left by all sorts of women in his time.

I close my eyes. He must really care about this one.

I laugh. She's an android. No one cares that way about an android.

But then, again, the image of Roger's closed bedroom door comes to mind.

He must.

I wonder, picking up my coffee again, how long can this hold?


	14. Interlude: Depression in the Crowd

**Act Fifteen – Interlude: Depression in the Crowd**

"You notice the strangest things when you look for them. What I noticed that night sent me on a chase that lead me to a drawn up draw bridge."

Dorothy went to stand out on the lower balcony where she had a view of the entire dome, and, faintly, the city that lay beyond it. Roger allowed her the time alone out of respect for her, realizing that despite the dancing lessons with Norman, she very well could have some reservations about dancing with him in public.

When Roger received his shock, Dastun couldn't find her to escort him out of the ballroom.

It amused Schwarzwald to no end to find the former celebrated bachelor deserted by his escort. It did not, however, amuse him so much to see who had momentarily replaced her. And he had his own agenda to attend to. When the glass overhead shattered and Beck's new gang of men lowered themselves swiftly into the ballroom, he made a hasty retreat, leaving Angel in Rosewater's less than comforting grip, he could tell by the scowl on her face.

When the screams started, Dorothy turned back towards the ballroom, an instant too late to see her assailant as she was scooped up and leapt with off the balcony. She had been unprepared for the attack, distracted by her own outrage at being replaced. So distracted she hadn't heard the movements on the roof, or the crashing of the glass. The crowd noises she hadn't bothered to pay attention to because she likened them to some change in the music. They had, after all, died down almost instantaneously.

Roger recovered from the shock he received at seeing the specter from his nightmares enter the ballroom shortly after the screams started, and helped Dastun's men to evacuate the ballroom, hoping to find some trace of Dorothy in the crowds moving out. Looking, eyes scanning as he ushered women and patrons, a tall, imposing man in a black tuxedo with a firm expression on his face, almost like an android himself. He tried to catch a glimpse of someone unpanicked, moving steadily with the flow but not in a rushed manner.

His questing eyes went unrewarded.

Long after the grand ballroom was deserted, quiet, and statements had been taken, Roger stood in the marble floored room and glanced around, calling out quietly to her.

But she wasn't there.


	15. Interlude: Confrontation

**Act Fifteen –Interlude: Confrontation**

_ 'It was worth being Alex's escort to the Ball just to see the look on his face when Beck's gang showed up. It had only taken a little work to arrange his timely entrance, and the rest was Beck's own plot. With a little expert help. I don't like to think of her helping him though… they get along… too well, almost.'_

The music in the grand ballroom played loudly on the dance floor, but much quieter on the balcony above, so that the mingling power players of Paradigm City could conduct whatever business or pleasure they pleased while the citizens attending the Ball to support the Military Police or in memorial to those who died at the Incident could mingle below. The later group was smaller, and much older than the former, but some of the members of that group held as much influence as those people on the balcony, if not in political power, at least as financers of the Corporation.

It was almost midnight when Angel made her way up to the executive balcony. She wanted to be at the proper audience position when the show began.

Standing demurely on Alex's left hand side, Angel smiled and laughed pleasantly at his jokes, along with a small, select group of his Executive Board. Inwardly, she wanted nothing more than to see the safe departure of Roger Smith, despite Alex's plans for the Negotiator. Let Alex do what he wanted with the cursed robot, but the Negotiator was another matter entirely.

What happened first was that the lights went out on the balcony. Not having expected Schwarzwald to make such an extravagant entrance, Angel's shock was as real as it could be. His loud, preaching words to the Paradigm Executives made the perfect introduction for the shattering glass that came next.

As the glass shattered, Angel fought her way to the edge of the balcony to scan the crowd for Roger and see if he ever found his escort. She found Roger easily enough, talking quietly with Dastun and a few young women who were fawning over him in a slightly shameless manner. The people on the main floor hadn't even noticed Schwarzwald's entrance, since the balcony, beautifully remote, was nearly two stories above the ballroom itself. The people mingling below did, however, hear the shattering sound of the glass.

From her position, holding the railing tightly so she looked like she was scared, which Alex would have applauded her for if he weren't struggling to keep the board members calm, Angel saw what Roger's reaction to the entrants was.

And had one of her own.

Beck did not, as he had planned with Angel, come into the ballroom alone, but with the recovered replica of Dorothy on his arm. Upon seeing this, the stark and deathly still incarnation of his own escort, Roger stumbled backwards, and as she smiled at him, he turned to say something to Dastun that he never uttered, because he passed out. Angel herself was surprised at his escort, though she could understand that reaction quite well, but as her wide, hawk-like gaze watched the next events, narrated by Schwarzwald's sermon on memories and the destruction Paradigm was destined to call down upon humanity once more, she saw the cold replication move away from Beck, so fast that her motion was barely discernable as more than a swift black streak as she moved through the crowds.

Narrowing her eyes, she realized that she had been out maneuvered.

Beck and his men, who filed in and fanned out as though flanking him militarily, proceeded to cause the ruckus required for the next step of Angel and Beck's scheming, as well as Alex's, and she felt a firm hand on her shoulder.

Looking up, she saw the high brow and stern expression of her own escort. "It's time we were off, Angel," he hissed low in her ear. "We have much to talk about."

He grabbed her by the elbow then and pulled her through the frantic crowd towards the exit. If he had turned back for even a moment, he might have seen the almost sinister smile on her face.


	16. Interlude: Waking Darkness

**Act Fifteen – Interlude: Waking Dar****kness**

_'The first thing I realized was that I could not see. I was bound, it was quiet, but then I had something hindering my hearing. I believe there was a low-oscillating frequency in the background to dull it. Although… I cannot be sure if I was really bound or if I simply could not move my body.'_

"Roger?" my voice sounds small, and pathetic, even to my own ears. I must be inside somewhere very large. And empty, there is an echo.

"The Negotiator isn't here," that voice… the same voice from the phone. It sounds familiar, but I can't quite put my finger on it. "Does that disturb you?"

Not the same voice on the phone, but… close. "Where is Roger?"

Another voice, from slightly farther away this time. Colder, some, and thickly accented, "Oh why do yah bother with her?"

Silence.

Beck.

Why is Beck here, wherever here is? Where am I? Soldano has not attempted to recover me since the destruction of Dorothy II, and my father…

My father is dead.

So why take me now?

"Call it a bit of lingering sentimentality."

"Come on, red," the word sticks in my mind. It is not Angel who is with him? "It's probably better if you just scrapped her like we planned to begin with."

There is a noise and Beck snorts, and goes silent. I wonder how many other people are in this place I am in. And then I feel it. A small, delicate hand, identical to my own, placed on my cheek. "I can't give you Roger," it slips down to my shoulder and tightens, as only an android's hand can, and I feel my pseudo-skin straining under the pressure. "But I'll be sure to take _good_ care of him."

I can certainly say that I am afraid now. I do not recall ever having been afraid, not for myself. For my father, perhaps, but that was a short-lived fear. He was shot and killed too quickly for much fear to come into my conscious.

But this voice, the determination… and the strength of the fingers that are puncturing my pseudo-skin at the joint of my shoulder with machine-like precision… what harm will I bring Roger now?


End file.
